


Masque Queen

by Sashataakheru



Category: The Chaser RPF
Genre: Bondage, Elizabethan dresses, Gender Confusion, Genderplay, Masks, Other, Strangers, cross dressing, disguises, inspired by commentary tracks, masque balls, role-playing, smut69
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-25
Updated: 2011-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A period-set masque ball provides Elizabethan dresses, smut and much lulz.</p><p>Originally written, three odd years ago, for the prompt 'strangers' for a smut69 table. Thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masque Queen

**Author's Note:**

> The Cast and their aliases:  
> Craig Reucassel is the Countess Sofia di Castanga); Andrew Hansen is Sophie; Chris Taylor is Marguerite; Julian Morrow is Count Vladmir; Chas Licciardello is Scaramouch; and, Charles Firth is the Marquess Alejandro du Pont.

Chris had spent months finding the right dress. He would never admit that the reason for this was that he genuinely enjoyed the experience of trying on dress after dress and admiring both the dress, and himself in the dress. There was just something exquisite about Elizabethan dresses that Chris adored. Part of it was the adornment, the fabrics, the craftsmanship; they were just exquisite pieces of clothing and Chris adored them greatly.

Now he was putting the finishing touches on his outfit. He was glad it was a masque. It meant he could disguise himself while he danced the night away. Maybe he’d meet someone. He wasn’t entirely sure what the exact proportions of men to women were going to be, but he didn’t care, not really. Pronouns were to be dictated by appearance and drag had been encouraged, mainly by the mostly-female organising committee to make a bunch of men wear corsets and huge dresses. The best dressed woman, whether they were a man or not, would be crowned Queen Elizabeth, and would be allowed to choose a consort. Together, they would oversee the night and spend the evening together and reign over the next year until the time came to choose another.

Chris smooths out the dress one more time before slipping his mask over his face, a very nice Venetian styled one with glorious gold accents and paintwork. It was a full-face mask so he could remain anonymous. He had even gone to the trouble of choosing a dress with full-length sleeves and dainty little gloves so he didn’t have to go through the pain of waxing his body, which he thought would probably need a pair of shears more than anything.

Finally satisfied he could do nothing more with his outfit, Chris grabbed his tiny bag and left, going out to meet the limo waiting for him. There were already 6 people in the limo, but Chris was certain he knew none of them. That was how this masque was organised so everyone arrived as strangers. Chris was glad for it. Even though he was quite certain no one he knew would be attending, or even knew it was on, he still wanted his anonymity. He didn’t want to be caught out in drag by his friends, who would surely humiliate him for it. No, better he not give his name out. Then he could be someone else for the evening.

* * *

In another limo in another part of town, Andrew smirked to himself under his mask as he wondered what Chris would be wearing. He and Craig had discovered Chris’ ticket to the masque and had decided to go as well, just to tease him. Craig couldn’t help telling Julian and Chas either, so now they were all making their way to the masque, eyes peeled for Chris in the hopes of hitting on him all evening.

Andrew was very happy with his gown. It was an exquisite fabric, gold and embroidered, and made him feel like a princess. He had sturdy boots on with good, solid heels, and a cat half mask in black he’d found accidentally when he was looking for a gown to wear. His hair had been constructed from an elaborate wig of pale blonde hair, bundled together in an almost impossible configuration. Andrew was quite pleased with it. It made him look taller.

He was rather annoyed that Craig hadn’t shown him his outfit though. They’d gone shopping together, and though Craig had helped Andrew decide on his gown, Craig had refused to show him what he’d chosen, not wanting to spoil the surprise. Andrew had thought that very unfair, but who was he to get in the way of Craig making an entrance?

There was a knock at the door then and Andrew figured it was his lift. He secured his mask in place and headed out to the car, sliding into the limo with the grace of a cat and taking the offered martini. He figured Craig would find him eventually.

* * *

Craig had been ready half an hour before he was due to be picked up, and had spent that time posing in front of a mirror, admiring his gown. And his make up. And his mask. And his hair. And his heels. And, fuck it, himself, because he was gorgeous. But he didn’t let his arrogant vanity show, not yet. He was having marvellous fun posing for his kids, twirling around in his heels for their amusement. They’d be asleep by the time he got home, so he was taking the time then to play with them whilst making sure they didn’t ruin his outfit.

He, too, had spent months choosing his outfit carefully. He would not be outshone. The Countess would not allow it. When he and Andrew had discovered Chris’ ticket to the masque, Craig had played innocent and had neglected to tell Andrew he’d been before, quite a few times, and had a well-established persona to play up to. But if he’d told Andrew that, it would spoil the surprise, and Craig wanted Andrew to be truly surprised.

When his lift arrived, Craig kissed his kids goodnight in his most dainty manner before stepping outside to the carriage waiting for him. Julian and Chas were waiting inside, dressed in their finest white tie with long, flowing black capes, with Julian looking particularly dashing in his outfit. They would be his escorts for the evening. Julian had gone for a Phantom of the Opera-style half-mask, while Chas had gone for a Scaramouch mask, as always. Craig’s mask was a dainty little thing on a wooden handle, with enormous feathers decorating it.

Julian stepped out of the carriage to greet him as Chas held the door open.

“My dear, your carriage awaits,” Julian said with a sweeping bow, offering his hand to Craig.

Craig giggled and accepted his hand as he helped him into the carriage. Chas sat next to him, taking his hand in his. Julian joined them a moment later and sat opposite them, smiling at Craig. The carriage began to move and the sound of the horses on the bitumen made Craig squirm inside with glee.

* * *

Chris arrived at the ballroom slightly inebriated. He stepped out of the limo and inside the lobby to of the grand building they were partying in. It was mock period finery and Chris gazed at it all in wonder. The grounds here were fantastic and well-maintained, and the building itself a sprawling reconstruction of the sort of manor houses and palaces that can be found in England and Europe.

Chris showed his ticket to the doormen and they crossed his name off the list before letting him inside the gigantic ballroom, decked out in rich décor of the highest quality. There were already a lot of people there, and they milled around chatting quietly as waiters brought tray after tray of nibbles and champagne. A string quartet played soft chamber music, filling the air with song.

Chris had to admit he was nervous. He’d never been to one of these balls before. Just then, someone grabbed his arm and offered him a glass of champagne, and suddenly, Chris didn’t feel so bad.

* * *

Andrew observed the ballroom before him carefully, trying to spot Chris amongst the hoard of masked, dressed creatures flirting with each other. He hummed along to the music quietly, annoyed that he recognised it and knew the tune. Even after so long, he hadn’t forgotten the fingering, tapping lightly against the wall behind him as he watched the crowd. He was leaning against the wall near the entrance, sipping some wine, wondering when Craig would arrive. Another beautifully dressed woman sidled up beside him.

“Thought this was supposed to be anonymous. You looking for someone?” the woman said, her deep voice clumsily disguised.

“Might be. Heard a mate might be here, that’s all,” Andrew said, not bothering to look at his companion.

“Ahh, good luck spotting her amongst that mob then. The name’s Angela, by the way,” the woman said, offering her hand.

Andrew shook her hand as he quickly thought of a name, the one thing he’d forgotten to think of. “Sophie. I’m Sophie. Pleased to meet you,” he said.

“Never been here before, I take it. Just relax and watch the others. You’ll discover how it all works in time,” Angela said.

“I figured as much. Thanks,” Andrew said.

“And if you’re lucky, I might catch you afterwards and see if I can’t get you out of that dress,” Angela said, leaning in close as she lowered her voice to an irresistibly seductive level.

Andrew swallowed. He hadn’t anticipated that. Angela snuck her hand behind Andrew’s back and down towards his arse. Andrew could barely feel her touch through all the reams of fabric.

“Quite the pretty thing you are, Sophie. I’d keep your wits about you. Plenty of folks’d want to get their hands on you,” Angela said.

With a wink and a nod, Angela left him. Andrew leaned back against the wall with a sigh, still not sure how he felt about the sudden attention.

“Dammit, Craig, get your pretty arse here now. I need someone to talk to,” Andrew muttered.

* * *

Just then, the doors to the ballroom were both pushed open and fanfare sounded across the room. A single woman stood there, silhouetted, with her two escorts, one on each arm. The lights behind them blinded their appearance. Andrew wandered into the centre of the room to see what the fuss was about, as did everyone else. Everyone wanted to know who was being hailed by such fanfare.

“Countess Sofia di Castagna, Count Vladmir and Scaramouch,” said the announcer, preceding their entrance into the hall.

Soft murmurings crossed the room as everyone tried to work out who they might be. The trio walked forward and finally entered the room, the Countess waving at everyone fondly as she held her mask in place. The Phantom and Scaramouch beside her remained silent and still.

The string quartet in the corner began playing again as they were offered drinks. The Countess was elegance personified, and she walked around the room, greeting everyone. Clearly, she was well known.

It was just the beginning of the arrivals, those of rank deemed important enough to let in with fanfare and applause. The last to enter were the previously crowned Queen and her consort, who took their places in the thrones at the far end of the room until their replacements were crowned. You could never win it two years in a row. As Queen, you picked the next Queen, and therefore not allowed to pick yourself or your consort. It meant no one ever monopolised the position, giving everyone a decent shot at it.

* * *

Craig knew the moment he found Chris. It was his nervous shake and the way he greeted him that gave him away. Craig smirked and moved on, not wanting to let him know he was here as well just yet. Instead, he searched for Andrew to let him know he’d found him.

Craig found Andrew in a corner, gazing off at nothing. Craig snuck up behind him and wrapped his arms around his middle, pulling him into a hug.

“Found him. Gold and ruby dress. Dainty lace gloves. Being accosted by Scaramouch,” Craig whispered, pointing discretely to where Chris was indeed being accosted by an overly flirtatious Chas in his Scaramouch mask, who was leaning against a chair as he propositioned him.

“He looks quite good in that dress, doesn’t he?” Andrew murmured.

“He’d look better out of it,” Craig said with a low chuckle. “Your dress is prettier though.” Craig spun Andrew around to look at him again, smiling as he looks over his outfit. “Ravishing.”

Craig had moved his mask away to kiss Andrew before Andrew could react. Craig was using his mask to hide them, letting the feathers disguise their kissing. Andrew was surprised at how erotic the whole thing felt. There was none of the usual fierceness that Craig had. Instead, there was tenderness and love, a kiss Andrew just knew was for him.

Craig brought him into a hug, holding him close. “You have a good time, baby. If I win Queen, you can be my consort.”

Andrew blushed. “And what about Chris?”

“You leave Chris to me. I’ll sort him out. He’s never been before. He doesn’t know what he’s got himself in for,” Craig said, with his usually mischievous voice.

“You know I love it when you’re being cheeky,” Andrew said.

“I know, love. Gotta go. Seeya,” Craig said. He gave Andrew a quick peck on the cheek before he left to find someone else he hadn’t greeted yet.

* * *

The evening had quickened up and Chris found himself seduced by the Countess. Scaramouch kept him busy as he watched the Countess and Count Vladmir dance up a storm, their movements beautiful and graceful and full of passion. The Countess had converted her mask into one she could tie around her head. This freed her hands for dancing.

“Who is she?” Chris murmured, unable to take his eyes off her.

“Who?” Scaramouch said.

“The Countess. Who is she? She’s gorgeous,” Chris said.

“You’re missing the point of anonymity, er, what did you say your name was again?” Scaramouch said.

“Marguerite,” Chris said.

“Marguerite. Pretty name. I bet you’re just as pretty as your name,” Scaramouch said. He was really very happy with how well he’d managed to disguise his voice. Either Chris was so distracted he hadn’t noticed, or for once, Chas had managed to make his nasally annoying voice disappear for good.

“Oh, well, I don’t know. Maybe,” Chris said.

“God wouldn’t give you such a pretty name if you didn’t mirror it, sweet thing,” Scaramouch purred, brushing the back of his fingers against Chris’ mask.

Chris squirmed at the complement, wanting to wriggle away and hide in a hole. Chris’ self esteem was clearly in no mood to glow with pride at Scaramouch’s words.

“How bout I put in a good word for you with the Countess? She might dance with you,” Scaramouch said, changing tack.

“That-that would be nice. I’d like that,” Chris said.

“Wait here, sweet thing. Save some champagne for me,” Scaramouch said with a wink.

Chris smiled as he watched his companion stand and leave, suddenly leaving him alone again. Chris found himself preoccupied with his dress again, smoothing his hands over the skirt to feel the material again. He’d taken his gloves off and folded them neatly on the table. He ran his hands up his corset, feeling the way it shaped his figure. He suddenly felt beautiful; it was as if he wasn’t really the fat hairy animal Craig had loved calling him before any longer, not when he was dressed like that.

“Would you like this dance, m’Lady?”

A soft coy voice brought Chris out of his thoughts. Chris looked up to find the Countess standing before him, offering him her hand.

“Me? A dance? Oh, yes please. It would be an honour,” Chris said, almost falling off his feet as he struggled to stand in his hurry to accept her offer.

The Countess smirked and took Chris’ hand and led him to the dance floor. Chris couldn’t concentrate so close to her now. The Countess took lead and took Chris on a swirling course around the room. Chris didn’t let himself mess up. It would do no good to mess this up.

* * *

Now relieved of minding Chris, Chas had dragged Julian off for a little respite. They walked around the gardens in the moonlight, holding hands, their masks dangling from their ribbons as they held them in their hands, free to remove them now they were outside the party. They came to a small lake and a gazebo, lit with twinkling fairy lights.

“It’s so beautiful out here,” Chas said.

“I know. I love coming here,” Julian said.

“That desperate, are you?” Chas said, glancing at Julian and giving him an amused smile.

“Oh, shut up, Chas. Don’t ruin the moment,” Julian said and pulled him into a kiss.

It was too cold for complete nudity, and they were out in the open, but they managed to fuck anyway, with Chas lying on the gazebo bench while Julian thrust inside him. The gazebo had been built for such a purpose, and did include enough of a screen to hide. It still let in the cold though. Not that Chas minded. He was with his Julian. Nothing else mattered.

* * *

Andrew was startled when a very well-dressed gentleman tipped his hat and bowed to him, asking him for a dance or three. So taken aback by his compliments, Andrew agreed and took his offered hand. It would be the start of a very long evening together and both would fall together very closely.

Andrew’s gentleman friend called himself the Marques Alejandro du Pont, and was a witty, charming fellow, filled with fascinating conversation and ideas. Andrew found himself smitten. Whoever this Marques was, he was someone Andrew wanted to get to know better.

* * *

The fanfare sounded again, marking the crowning of the new Queen. Their host and Emperor, a portly man going by the name Chesterfield, was escorted to the end of the room where the Queen and her consort sat, waiting to announce the new Queen. The Emperor stood beside them as he announced them.

“Last year, our very beautiful and becoming Duchess Revalla was chosen as our Queen. And what a year it’s been. Now it’s time to choose our new Queen, and I call upon our current Queen to hand over her crown and announce her chosen. Ladies and gentlemen, our Queen Elizabeth,” the Emperor proclaimed, rousing the crowd into cheers and applause.

The Queen got to her feet and removed her crown, ready to pass it on to the next. Her consort stood beside her, holding a cushion on which the Queen’s crown lay.

“It’s been a very difficult decision, and I’ve loved watching all of you so very much, but there can only be one Queen, and that is our favourite Countess, Countess Sofia di Castagna! Come and be crowned, my Lady!” the Queen said.

Rapturous applause followed by whistling, screeching and general celebration accompanied Craig as he made his way to the podium to be crowned. He’d won it again. He was so very happy. All his hard work had paid off. He knelt at the Queen’s feet as she placed the crown on his head, pronouncing her thusly the new Queen Elizabeth for the next year.

Craig got to his feet and turned to address the crowd. “This is a great honour, to have won it again. I thank the outgoing Queen for an excellent year of balls, parties and festivals. Here’s to another fabulous year. Now, who to pick as my consort?”

There were howls and cheers and cries of ‘pick me’ as Craig left the podium and wandered amongst the crowd. He’d have to square it with Andrew later when he realised Craig had picked Chris for consort over him, like he’d promised. He’d changed his mind at the last minute when he decided Chris would have to come back if he were made consort than if he were left to his own devices. The Countess didn’t know Marguerite’s name, and there were more than one Marguerite, so he’d have to go pick the right one. When he found Chris, he smirked and took his hand, dragging him forward back to the stage again.

“What’s your name, sugar?” Craig whispered quickly.

“Um, Marguerite. Do I need any other names?” Chris said, not sure he’d done this properly.

“Not any more you don’t,” Craig whispered, winking at him.

“Oh, right,” Chris said.

“I give you my consort, Marguerite di Castagna!” Craig said, presenting Chris with a small tiara, which he placed gently on his head.

Wild applause followed and the ball started up again, drowning them all in music, song and very fine food, with plenty of alcohol to keep everyone happy.

* * *

The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur after that for Chris. All he remembered was a lot of dancing, an exquisite meal, and finally being dragged up to a large room, the Queen’s suite, where Chris was kissed by his Queen for the first time. She hadn’t removed Chris’ mask the whole way, but at that first kiss, Chris knew he was kissing a man, and it didn’t gross him out as much as he thought it might.

“You need a half mask. That full one’s not gonna cut it when we’re in bed together. I do like kissing my consorts,” the Countess said, fishing around in a drawer for another mask, a simple black half mask made to look like a peacock. “Here, put that on. I promise I won’t look at you. Anonymity is most important,” he said, handing Chris the mask.

Chris looked doubtful, but the Countess indeed turned away. Chris hurriedly removed his mask and replaced it with the one he’d been given, tying it tight as he kept his eyes on her, watching for any chance she might be peeking. Once he was finished, he sat his old mask on a nearby table.

“Okay, done now,” Chris said.

“That’s good. Now I can ravish you,” the Countess said, bringing him into her arms.

Chris was in no mood to complain. He inhaled as the Countess’ fingers deftly removed his corset and dress before working on her own outfit. Soon, there was nothing but lingerie between them and they fell back onto the large soft bed, entwined in each other’s arms.

* * *

Andrew ended up in the Marques’ room, more in love with him than ever, desperate to know who he really was. They sat by the window, drinking wine, as they talked quietly. The Marques gently stroked Andrew’s hand, smiling at him.

“I wish I knew your name. You’re the most fascinating person I’ve ever met,” Andrew said.

“Sorry. We never use real names here. Maybe we’ll catch up at one of the other balls,” the Marques said.

“I don’t know if I can wait that long. I really think I’m falling for you hard,” Andrew said.

The Marques stood and wandered over to the small desk and got out a small piece of paper. He scribbled a few lines on it and folded it tightly before returning to him.

“Do not open this until you get home again. I mean it. I won’t be responsible for you breaking anonymity here,” the Marques said as he sat down again, handing Andrew the piece of paper.

“Okay. I promise,” Andrew said, tucking the paper inside his small bag.

“Now, where were we?” the Marques said with a smile, taking a sip of his wine.

Andrew got lost in his eyes and his voice and didn’t think he ever wanted to leave.

* * *

By lunchtime the next day, everyone had left, still wearing their masks. Some had gone home the night before, while others had stayed on at the manor with their partners. Andrew went home in the morning, still dreaming of his Marques and how wonderfully romantic their night had been. Andrew had never had sex like that before. It was so tender and passionate. Andrew wanted more of it. The Marques had left him with a parting kiss, all he was allowed for now.

Chris had been left alone by his Countess, with a promise that they’d meet at the next ball in a month. Chris still had no idea who she was, not really. Chris had enjoyed being able to be anonymous for once even as he watched his Countess being helped into her carriage as she started her journey home.

Julian and Chas took the Countess home, watching her stride inside her house, crown glistening triumphantly on her head. Julian got out and hired the driver for the afternoon on a whim, leaving them time to have their own romantic fun.

* * *

Chris collapsed on his bed, tired and ready for sleep. He’d had a wonderful time, and he’d been made the Queen’s consort, a Queen who had been very ravishing indeed. Just as he was about to step into the shower, the doorbell rang. Chris cursed his luck and wrapped his robe around himself as he dashed out to the door.

He opened the door to see Craig standing there, infuriating smirk across his lips. “Craig. Um, this is a surprise. Come in.”

“Had a good night? Go anywhere?” Craig said, slinking down into the couch.

“Um, went out, for a bit. Dancing and such,” Chris said evasively.

“Where’d you get the tiara, princess?” Craig said, spotting the tiara lying on the bed.

Chris turned and saw the offending tiara and quickly picked it up, shoving it in a bedside drawer. “Um, nothing. Just – they were giving them out,” he said, far too quickly to be believed.

“Meet some nice queens, did you?” Craig sneered.

“Queens? What do you mean by that?” Chris said, not sure he knew where Craig was going with this.

Craig got to his feet and pressed against Chris, holding him close. “Marguerite di Castanga, would you be my wife?” he murmured into his ear, repeating a line he’d said to Chris earlier in the evening, once they lay in bed together.

Chris froze. Suddenly everything made sense. The voice, the clothes, the sex, everything. “Jesus, Craig. Why the hell didn’t you say you were going too?”

“What, and spoil my fun? No way. I’ve worked hard to become a Countess. I’m not ruining it by breaking rules,” Craig said.

“You should’ve told me at least,” Chris pleads.

“Not on your life. You fucking break anonymity there and they’ll have your head. Remember that next month when we preside over our first ball. We go as strangers. Break that and I’ll break you,” Craig said.

“Okay, okay, I promise. Is that all you came for?” Chris said.

“Go put your tiara on for me. I want to see how you look in it,” Craig said with a smile.

* * *

Andrew arrived home, tired and exhausted. He carefully got out of his dress and set it aside before remembering the note he’d been left. Sitting on his bed, still in his lingerie, he unfolded the note to read it.

_My dearest Sophie,  
Whose eyes are like fire in the pit of Mount Etna,_

_You know me better than you think you do. We have met before. I already know your heart, as you know mine._

_Meet at our spot by the river at sunset. Bring two roses, one white as pure love, and one blood red as the burning passion we share._

_Wear your mask. Only after this shall you know me._

_Yours forever,  
The Marques Alejandro du Pont._

* * *

Suitably intrigued, Andrew did as he was told and made his way to the only spot by the river that meant anything to him. He wondered if it was the right place. He leaned against a tree in the dying shade as he waited to see his Marques. He didn’t have to wait long. His gentleman soon appeared, dressed in another crisp suit, with tails and a top hat, his mask in place. Andrew swallowed his nerves, squeezing the roses enough to prick himself on the thorns. He squealed at the pain and dropped them and he knelt down to pick them up again, rubbing his sore hand on his jacket to try and make the pain go away.

His Marques was by his side, taking his injured hand in his. Andrew looked up and met his eyes. Gentle hands caressed his own, slowly easing the pain away.

“Andrew,” the Marques said softly.

“How do you know my name?” Andrew said.

“Because I know you. Don’t you recognise my voice?” the Marques said.

Andrew stumbled back as he finally twigged. No one else would know their spot. No one but he and- “Charles! Is it really you?” he said, slipping off his mask.

“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?” Charles grinned, pulling his mask off.

“Shit, Charles, I wondered why I felt so close to you,” Andrew said, bringing him into a hug. “Also that has to be the best poetry you’ve ever written.”

“Nah, it’s not mine anyway. I stole it from somewhere else. But thanks. I wasn’t even sure it was you at first, you know. I didn’t know you were coming. I think I twigged about halfway through the evening, but didn’t dare reveal who I was. It’s not in the rules like that. I wanted to, so many times, though. I took it as a challenge to see if I could woo you all over again like I did years ago,” Charles said.

“Well, I think you succeeded. Thank you for a wonderful evening,” Andrew said.

“It’s been a pleasure, madam,” Charles said, kissing the back of Andrew’s hand.


End file.
